


Poster Boy

by Sarah1281



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Pairings, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/pseuds/Sarah1281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean knows that he must confess the truth of his past to his new son-in-law and he thought he had prepared  himself for all possible reactions. He was mistaken, however. Enthusiastic condemnations of the old regime and praise for his 'revolutionary spirit' were not something he knew what to do with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poster Boy

Valjean was not sure at all that this was the right thing to do. He was never sure that destroying his happiness was the right thing to do and could usually come up with valid reasons why not to but he always suspected that his unhappiness with having to invite misery into his life played a part in that. 

This, though…this felt different. Or perhaps this was just the hardest thing to let go of. 

Valjean had never been able to think of Cosette getting married and leaving him behind without a great deal of pain and so he had generally avoided thinking about it at all. He had not given thought to how Cosette was to meet eligible young men because he did not particularly want her to meet any at all. 

Strangely, it was when Cosette was taking her walks with him in the Luxembourg that she had first crossed her new husband’s path. He had always feared, in a vague sort of way, that he would turn his back on Cosette for two seconds and she would find a way to meet a young man and had never imagined it would happen while he was right there. 

He had been worrying about a shabby-looking young man who often stared at her and it was clear that this obvious distraction was hiding the true threat. It almost made him suspect a conspiracy since he now knew that Marius and Enjolras were friends but Enjolras was too straightforward for that and Marius’ smiles at the wedding hadn’t been completely genuine. 

Cosette had been sitting there on their bench speaking with him and slowly but surely her attention strayed to Enjolras’ group of firebrand students. They were not such fools as to plan their revolution or even call for an uprising in public but they had much to say either way and Cosette was riveted. 

He had not even noticed this fascination when Cosette begged him to let her speak with them and, at first, he was not entirely sure that it even was romantic inclination. Certainly the one she paid the most attention to, Enjolras, showed no interest in courting her or anyone else that he could tell. And if his house had to fill with students, at least the one Cosette seemed partial to remained stubbornly partial to ‘Patria.’ 

Maybe some of those ideas that they were filling Cosette’s head with were a little radical but they seemed to make her happy and she showed no signs of wanting to build a barricade. 

No sign, at least, until the morning of June the fifth when she had declared her intention of going off to fight a revolution to end the tyranny of King Louis-Philippe (whom Valjean himself had not noticed as being particularly tyrannical as far as monarchs went. And he knew that he owed Louis XVIII his life for commuting his death sentence to life imprisonment). 

That was simply not going to happen. 

Valjean tried to explain as much to her, tried to explain that revolutions were incredibly dangerous and she could be killed or otherwise attacked and that they really were no place for a young girl. He had tried to avoid the revolution back in 1830 but could not avoid encountering a little of it here and there and even that small taste was more than enough for him. 

Cosette had listened patiently, nodded, and asked to go to General Lamarque’s funeral so it was clear that he had not been getting through to her. He could have just insisted that she stayed home and kept her in his sight all day but eventually he would have to fall asleep and then who knew what she might have done? He did trust her and she was a very good girl but all that revolutionary fervor had a way of making people act in the most peculiar ways. 

When had she become such a revolutionary anyway? 

He had finally secured her – reluctant – promise to stay safe inside when he had offered to go to the barricade in her place. That had made her incredibly concerned and she almost hadn’t agreed. It was nice to see that she was so concerned about his safety but a little disconcerting that she hadn’t seemed particularly worried about her own. 

He had no desire to get caught up in a revolutionary movement, not at his age and not with Cosette to consider, but it was for Cosette that to the barricades he went. 

Everyone was surprised to see him Enjolras greeted him with a knowing look in his eye. He tried to help out where he could, with a well-aimed shot here and some care for the wounded there, but he knew that he did not have it in him to kill anybody. 

When the time came to send people away (back when nobody knew what was happening and if the people were going to rise and if any of them would live to see next day), they had tried to make Valjean leave, too. They reminded him that, just like four of the men who left, he had a responsibility and someone who depended on him to survive. 

Well, Valjean had left a letter for Cosette explaining where she might find her fortune in case he did not return but he had no intention of forcing her to read that. And he could not go. Not when he had promised Cosette that he would fight in her place. The thought of Cosette seeing any of this, being one of the wounded, being one of the killers…No. He would stay. 

It came as somewhat of a surprise to all of them (particularly Grantaire who needed convincing that he wasn’t hallucinating or still asleep) when the people did rise and the National Guard stopped fighting them and became their ally. He stayed long enough to see the march on the Hotel de Ville (keeping a special eye on Enjolras because he always made himself a target and just in case Cosette did love him) and the proclamation of a second republic before returning home to his daughter. 

She had been pacing like a caged tiger and threw herself at him the moment he returned. Once she had satisfied herself that he was unharmed and finished embracing him, she demanded answers which he gladly gave. 

Things moved very quickly after that with the new republic but somehow Enjolras still found time to see Cosette regularly. Somehow, they still found time to fall in love. Somehow, Valjean (who had thought he had kept a careful eye on their affair) was completely taken by surprise when Enjolras requested permission to marry Cosette. It did make him feel a little better when Enjolras’ friends couldn’t believe it either. Their reactions ranged from shock that Enjolras was interested in girls at all to shock that Enjolras had found a girl sufficiently devoted to Patria with which to spend his life. 

Enjolras was from a wealthy and influential family but Cosette’s comparatively humble situation did not bother him. The fact that there was some confusion over whether Valjean was her father or her uncle did not bother him. The sizable dowry Valjean had surprised the couple with was accepted with a sense of resignation, like Enjolras had no need for it but knew that he would not succeed in convincing Valjean not to give Cosette everything that he could. 

All in all, it was quite unexpected. 

The wedding was very lively and he had never seen Cosette happier. He had tried to leave after Cosette had noticed his...slight lack of enthusiasm but Enjolras’ groomsmen took it upon themselves to ‘cheer him up’ and he had not been able to make his escape. And, if he were being honest, it was very pleasant to sit by Cosette at dinner and listen to her gleeful conversation even if it just served to remind him of what he was losing. 

And then had come that sleepless night and the moment he was dreading. He had no fear of being denounced to the police as no man who looked at his daughter the way that Enjolras did could possibly break her heart by exposing her to such scandal and distress. That was probably the only scenario that was off the table, however. He knew that by walking in there today he might very well ensure that he never saw Cosette again. 

At least his last memory of her would be of her laughing as she kissed his cheek and bid him farewell. 

He had the servant not announce him for fear that it would draw Cosette and her presence would sap him of the strength to do what must be done. He worried if perhaps noon was too early to call on the day after a wedding but if that were the case then he would be assured that Cosette would not interrupt them. 

When Enjolras appeared, however, he was fully clothed and had some papers in his hands. He had clearly been up for quite awhile. Such an industrious boy, this new son of his. 

“Ah, father,” Enjolras greeted, pleasantly enough. “I’m sorry that you had to wait. I was in the middle of trying to sort out a little conundrum that has arisen with the republic and sometimes if you don’t get your thoughts down on paper then you may lose them.” 

Valjean nodded sympathetically. 

“I see that your arm is out of that sling,” Enjolras remarked. “I am glad to see that it is feeling better.” 

“Ah, yes.” 

“If I had known it was you, I would have had Cosette come down as well,” Enjolras told him. “She’s reading the account that Combeferre published of the revolution but I know she’ll want to see you.” 

“That’s quite alright, let her read in peace,” Valjean said. “I actually wished to speak with you alone.” 

Enjolras frowned. “Very well. Is something the matter?” 

Valjean wasn’t sure how to phrase what he had to say delicately (he had not much experience with confessing his identity) and so he decided to just come out and say it. “I am an ex-convict.” 

Enjolras looked confused. “Are you?” 

Valjean nodded. “Indeed I am. There was actually never anything the matter with my hand but I could not sign under my real name as that would ruin everything and you did not need a forgery on your marriage certificate.” 

Enjolras nodded approvingly. “That was certainly thoughtful of you. There may have been trouble if a forgery were discovered. I thank you, Citizen.” 

Valjean’s brow furrowed. “I...you’re welcome,” he said awkwardly. 

“I understand that this is probably an unpleasant subject but since you did just walk in here unprompted and inform me that you were a convict, once, I hope you do not feel that it is terribly out of line for me to ask you for some of the particulars,” Enjolras said charmingly. 

Valjean shook his head. “No, of course not. That is what I came here to say. I was nineteen years in the galleys of Toulon.” 

Enjolras’ eyes widened and he showed the first sign of losing his composure. “Nineteen years? How did you come to spend nineteen years in Toulon?” 

“Theft,” Valjean answered curtly. “Then I was condemned a second time for theft, this time for life. I’m afraid I have broken my ban.” 

There was a strange fire burning in Enjolras’ eyes now. “Theft! Why, this is abominable!” 

Valjean looked down. “I thought you might feel like that.” 

“How could any man not feel that way?” Enjolras demanded. “Nineteen years! That must be a third of your life!” 

“It was certainly a long ordeal,” Valjean said simply, wondering where he was going with this. Did the proportion of his life spent in prison make it worse? Had he had this conversation when he was eighty or a hundred and it was a fourth of a fifth of his life would it be less abhorrent? 

Enjolras’ lips moved but no sound came out, as if he were composing a speech in his head. He no longer seemed to see Valjean and he sat there for several uncomfortable minutes before Enjolras seemed to came back to himself and his bright blue eyes snapped back to him. “For the sake of thoroughness, can you tell me what it is that you stole both times?” 

“The first time I stole a loaf of bread,” Valjean started to say. 

“Wait a minute!” Enjolras burst out, his eyes blazing. “Are you telling me that you served nineteen years for stealing a loaf of bread? I do not know when this was but I wager it cannot have been more than forty or forty-five years ago. I have long been aware of the injustice inherent in the system but I had not known it to be quite so bad!” 

That was...unexpected. But then, those nineteen years had not been assigned at the very beginning the way Enjolras seemed to think. 

“I had to break a windowpane in order to take the loaf,” Valjean clarified. 

Enjolras nodded slowly, the light of understanding entering his eyes. “Ah, so that would make it breaking and entering an inhabited house at night. I see that. But nineteen years?” 

“It was only five initially,” Valjean amended. Only five. There was nothing only about those first five years consigned to Toulon. 

“But then why...” Enjolras trailed off, shaking his head. “I will get to that. You say you were sentenced to five years for one loaf of bread and a smashed windowpane? Children break windowpanes all the time and none of them are sentenced to prison for it and if everyone who took a bit of food were to be sent to the galleys then we would need to build more of them.” 

“But children cannot be held to the same standards as adults,” Valjean said reasonable, wondering how exactly it had come to him to justify the wasted years, “and often the children’s’ parents work to pay for the windowpane. My family had nothing. And not everyone is caught or sometimes something can be worked out before the police arrive. I had no such luck. And the fact that I was known to be a poacher did not help my case, either.” 

“What! But you were not sentenced for poaching!” Enjolras objected. “That should have had no bearing on the case.” 

Valjean smiled ruefully. “What should move the hearts of men and what actually does are not always the same thing, Monsieur.” 

“Citizen, please,” Enjolras corrected. “Five years for one loaf of bread and a windowpane. Even considering the additional illegal act of poaching, which I still say should not have been taken into account as you were not charged with it, that is excessive. I cannot support such a thing.” 

“You do not have to support it,” Valjean said gently, touched beyond reason at this first condemnation of the severity of his fate to come from someone other than him. “You just have to accept that it happened because nothing can change it.” 

“I acknowledge that it happened but I do not accept it,” Enjolras declared, as if the wording really made a difference. “And how did those unjust five years turn to nineteen?” 

“It was not precisely unjust,” Valjean attempted to argue. “I was guilty of what they said. It may have been iniquitous but it was not unjust.” 

Enjolras tilted his head consideringly. “You say that it is not unjust because there was a crime committed. Well not all are just, Citizen. Take the law that prevented more than twenty people from assembling for a meeting. That was certainly not a just law and was, in fact, a means of oppression. Or the laws that allow protestors to be imprisoned for months before going to trial! Saying that something is in accordance with the law does not make it automatically just.” 

Valjean nodded. “I can see the sense in that but surely you do not disagree that stealing should be a crime?” 

“Stealing cannot be allowed to interfere with the peaceful functioning of our society,” Enjolras said slowly. “And hardworking citizens do not deserve to be stolen from. But five years for what you did is not just, either. It may be just that you were punished for breaking the law but the punishment itself is not just.” 

It all sounded like splitting hairs to Valjean. It was easier to maintain that it was just but wicked. But then, that was why he was a peasant and a gardener and not a lawyer, wasn’t it? 

“You asked me why those five years were extended to nineteen,” he said instead. “Well, I was foolish enough to believe that I might be able to escape my fate; that is a common problem with me. Or perhaps I did not even believe that but I was so miserable that I literally could not stay even when I had every reason to just wait until the end of my sentence. I might have been out in five years instead of toiling away for nearly two decades.” It was difficult to think about. 

Enjolras did not look at all assuaged. “You attempted to escape and so they added fourteen years to your sentence? That is a gross abuse of power!” 

“They added three,” Valjean corrected. “And then another five for escaping and resisting arrest. Another three and then another and before you know it you have been condemned to nineteen years total.” 

“You attempted to escape four times,” Enjolras said, an odd expression on his face. 

Valjean bowed his head. “You feel that that is excessive and foolhardy, perhaps.” 

“Quite the contrary,” Enjolras disagreed. “I believe that it was the only rational course of action when you were so cruelly and unjustly condemned to a monstrous fate. Were I in your position, I would have done the same.” 

“You would have served nineteen years as well,” Valjean said vaguely, struggling to understand how Enjolras could have possibly heard his tale and yet not seemed to have looked down on him because of it. 

“It would have been because of the corrupt regime,” Enjolras said, unconcerned. “But come, citizen. You have not told me why you stole that loaf of bread. Hunger, I assume, but there must have been a reason that you chose that particular day when you had not stolen anything in the past.” 

Valjean sighed. This was the hardest part, this failure, this story he would never know the end of. Not until he was once more with God. He feared what he would learn. “My sister was a widow with seven small children. She could not work much because somebody needed to watch over the children and a poor peasant barely earns enough to feed himself, let alone eight other people. We got by but there was one winter that was particularly bitter and work scarce. There was no food to be had and there had not been for several days. And one of the children was just so sick...It is not an excuse. I could have waited. I could have asked somebody, anybody, to take pity on us. But I chose to steal and in doing so forever branded myself a thief.” 

“You were trying to save a dying child,” Enjolras said softly to himself. “You are right that stealing is rarely the correct course of action but to be condemned for five years for such a motive! It is monstrous. And this whole business of being branded forever a thief. One single stolen loaf of bread does not sound like a career criminal to me. Once you had done your nineteen years, or even just the five, then that should have been it. What is the point of paying a debt to society if that debt is never repaid? A loaf of bread and a windowpane are not worth making a man an outcast from society on par with any murderer who may be fortunate enough to be granted parole.” 

“I cannot say that I disagree with you on being unable to leave your past behind you as that is essentially what I did when I broke parole,” Valjean said wryly. “But breaking parole is not something to be done lightly as once you do so you can never reclaim your true name or you will be sentenced back to the galleys. And furthermore, before I broke parole...my last act as Jean Valjean...I robbed a child. He had so little and I took it from him. He needed that money, his kind always do. Who knows what became of him because of my action? I tried to find him afterwards but I never did. Perhaps he just got lost among the other boys like him. Perhaps he is dead. Perhaps the lack of that forty-sous piece led to his death. It is one more question I shall never be able to answer.” 

He felt certain that this, this robbing of a child, would be enough to convince Enjolras to stop sympathizing with him and start behaving like virtually any other man being confronted with this terrible truth would. Clearly when he had planned how this would go he had not taken into account that the man he would be confessing to was a revolutionary and thus (successful revolution or not) only tenuously connected to reality. 

“And all of this happened shortly after your release from prison, before you decided to change your life and become the good man that I have come to know as Cosette’s father?” Enjolras asked rhetorically. 

Valjean hesitated. 

“And was your second offence, the offence that would have condemned you for life, this small act which – while wrong – was before your transformation?” Enjolras pressed. 

“Technically-” Valjean started to say. 

Enjolras nodded. “Then this is just as ridiculous and shameful as I had initially suspected! All that good that you did afterwards and they would choose to ignore it in favor of a crime committed years and years ago!” 

“It is the way of the world,” Valjean said simply. 

But Enjolras shook his head, that hard, blazing look back in his eyes. “Not anymore it is not. Thank God we have already had our revolution and thank God, too, that we are moving further and further away from such atrocities every day.” 

“You speak of all this ‘good’ that I have done,” Valjean said, wishing that Enjolras could stop thinking about his revolution for long enough to deal with this disgrace waiting to happen. “What good is that? Raising Cosette? I do not think that so slight a thing can be called a good action; but if it be a good action, well, say that I have done it. It hardly makes up for the wrong I have done.” 

“If the wrong you have done amounts to two minor acts of theft then I think raising Cosette for a week would have made up for it,” Enjolras disagreed. 

“Monsieur,” Valjean tried to say but the look on Enjolras’ face stopped him. “Citizen-”

“A friend of mine spends more on hats in month than the entirety of what you stole or broke,” Enjolras said flatly. “I really wish he would not do this because it is an absurd frivolity but it is true nonetheless. And I was not talking about Cosette anyway.” 

“Then what are you referring to?” Valjean asked him. “Your revolution?” 

Enjolras shook his head. “No but if you would like to keep supplying me with examples of your good actions then go right ahead.” 

Valjean remained silent. 

“I am speaking of Monsieur Madeleine,” Enjolras informed him after a moment. 

Valjean tensed automatically even though Enjolras now knew far more than that old mask and Fauchelevent had continued to call him that whenever they were alone right up until the man’s death. “Monsieur Madeleine? How did you come to hear that name?” 

“I read that he was Jean Valjean in a newspaper article and you have just confessed to being Jean Valjean yourself,” Enjolras revealed. 

“I read that article,” Valjean said in a low voice. “At least I imagine that it is the same article. I do not see that there would have been another article mentioning this fact after early 1824 at the latest.” 

There was an implied question in his tone and Enjolras addressed it. “When I was first coming to realize that the former regimes were corrupt and monarchy must be abolished, I did some extensive research on miscarriages of justice. When one is decrying the government for their oppression, it is best to have examples of this and where better to look than in the prisons? I mostly focused on political prisoners and protesters, I will admit, but I wanted to be thorough and your case caught my attention.” 

“And just how,” Valjean asked, beginning to think that he would never understand this young man, “do you suppose that I was the victim of a miscarriage of justice? It was my choice to steal from that poor boy, my choice to break parole, my choice to confess my identity, and my choice to refuse to defend myself. The fact that my sentence was commuted to life imprisonment was honestly more than I was expecting.” 

“Just because you had not expected to receive justice does not mean that we should call the least of a rational action applied, not executing someone for a minor theft, justice and leave it at that,” Enjolras declared. “In fact, that you had not expected to receive even that just shows how flawed the system was.” 

“We are not here to debate the justice system of days gone by,” Valjean protested. 

“Very well then, let’s focus on your case specifically,” Enjolras said agreeably. “You were put on parole forever because you were seen as a dangerous man and society needed to be protected from you.” 

“I was a dangerous man,” Valjean pointed out. 

Enjolras looked at him consideringly before he nodded. “I can see that. And yet, what did you do once you had broken parole and freed yourself from lifelong persecution? You did not become a master criminal and lash out against society as they feared, you went to a small town and single-handedly revived its flagging economy. You poured millions of francs into raising up the town and everyone in the surrounding areas. You were appointed mayor twice and it was widely considered that you set the standard for administrating a small town justly and efficiently.” 

“I was pretending to be mayor,” Valjean said, looking away. 

“No, you were pretending to be Monsieur Madeleine but you were legitimately appointed as mayor,” Enjolras corrected. “Again, twice. That you would not have been appointed had your real name been known is neither here nor there.” 

It had been made very clear to him, once he had revealed his identity and been recaptured, that he had only been pretending to be mayor but – perhaps unsurprisingly – Enjolras felt differently. He seemed to feel differently about most things in life. 

“And then there’s the fact that the only reason you were caught at all is because some other poor soul was suspected of being you and you personally denounced yourself in order to clear his name!” Enjolras exclaimed. “And you who knew that by doing so you would consign yourself to the galleys for life after already passing more than a third of your life there! You were no idealistic fool who could not understand what you were doing. That just makes what you did so much more remarkable. I…would like to think that I could be strong enough to make that same decision but with a sacrifice of that magnitude I am honestly at a loss as to how I would respond when the time came.”

“You will never have to find out,” Valjean said, uncomfortable under the weight of all of that well-meaning but ultimately misguided praise. 

“No,” Enjolras agreed, looking satisfied. “Patria prevails.” 

Valjean waited patiently for him to go on because there was more that had happened and once Enjolras was quite through transforming him into some sort of a saint they could get back down to business. 

“I suppose you must have faked your death instead of actually drowning,” Enjolras said, a bit unnecessarily. “And even then it was risking your life to save a sailors!” 

“There would have been no better opportunity to escape,” Valjean objected. “I am, I suppose, somewhat of an expert on failed escape attempts. Escaping itself is not necessarily the problem but being hunted is. By doing what I did I not only received permission to break my chains but no one thought to look for me when I ‘fell’ and did not resurface.” 

Enjolras pursed his lips, deeply unimpressed by his denials. “You could have easily ‘fallen’ before rescuing that man and yet you did not. Now, Cosette does not remember much about her childhood prior to coming to live with you but she has described to me a feeling of nothing but spiders and serpents and of two hideous figures constantly tormenting her. If, as I now speculate, this is a half-formed recollection of her life before coming to live with you then taking her in is an even greater good.” 

“It does not matter what good I once did, what use I once was,” Valjean said stubbornly. “Now Cosette has you so she no longer needs me.” 

“Cosette may no longer be financially dependent on you,” Enjolras conceded, “although since you gave us nearly six hundred thousand francs that is debatable-”

“It was money entrusted to me,” Valjean interrupts. 

“As someone who was once an extremely wealthy industrialist I will draw my own conclusions,” Enjolras countered smoothly. “Just because Cosette is a married woman now does not mean that she no longer has need of you. She loves you greatly and would be heartbroken at the thought of losing you. And the average person, especially someone as open and warm as Cosette, needs more than one person in their life. It is not enough for her that she has me anymore than it is enough for me that I have her. I have my friends and family and she has you as well as her connections with my friends.” 

“I am not her real father,” Valjean said bluntly. 

Enjolras opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. “Is that man dead?” 

“I do not know,” Valjean replied. “But…”

“But that is not why he is not raising Cosette,” Enjolras surmised. “Well then, I ask you this. One man related to her by blood abandons her and, likely, her mother while one man not bound to her takes her as his own and delivers her from her childhood torment and raises her to become the lovely and thoughtful woman that she is today. Which is her real father?” 

Valjean shook his head helplessly. “What am I to Cosette? A passer-by. Ten years ago I did not know that she was in existence.” 

“And no one can fault you for that but today you are her father,” Enjolras said firmly. “I am fond of the family I was born into but it is not solely because chance dictated that I was born to them. I ardently admire and love each member of my family but they are not my only family. I call my fellow revolutionaries, particularly the fellow members of the Friends of the ABC, my brothers and I mean that. I do not hold them less dear to me because we share no blood.” 

“Your friends, Citizen, are not convicts,” Valjean pointed out. 

Enjolras shrugged, unconcerned. “They might have been had the revolution gone poorly or they were caught before our revolution. Labels like ‘convict’ do not concern me, only the story behind them. I have heard your story and nothing convinces me that I have cause for alarm. I do wonder at your reasons for telling me this, glad as I am to have heard your story, if you believe that I should fly into a rage and have you thrown from the house or some other such nonsense.” 

“I have my reasons for desiring that you know,” Valjean said curtly. 

Enjolras nodded expectantly. “Yes, you do and I would dearly like to hear them.” 

“Why should I tell you when I could have remained hidden and continued as a welcome guest in your home, seeing my dear Cosette whenever I like, perhaps even living with you?” Valjean asked rhetorically. “For all your pretty words about family being who you choose, I am not a part of a family. There are times when I believe that I never was. I almost had a family with Cosette but that was her influence overcoming my own and now that she is married even that is beyond me. I could not continue to be here when she no longer has need of me. Perhaps, as you say, she still has want of me but she no longer has need of me and so my justification for deceiving her and stealing her smiles and her love she thinks she gives to her father and not a convict is no more. Every tender moment, every laugh that rings out shall be anathema to me as long as it is under false pretences.” 

“But Citizen, I do not understand,” Enjolras told him. “What false pretences would it be under?” 

“Monsieur Fauchelevent,” Valjean said, almost bitterly. “That is the false pretence. That is the man that I could never be but so badly wish to be. Once, the danger my presence brought was very real and very physical but Cosette needed me still so it was worth the risk. Now, the world believes me to be dead and my most fervent pursuer has…ceased to pursue me. But that is not the only thing that hounds me! My own conscience, if you believe me in possession of one, will not give me peace until I confess this to you.” 

“I believe you have a more demanding conscience than many,” Enjolras said, an odd look on his face. 

“It is a terrible position to be in, to be praised by society but condemned by yourself or to be despised by society but know that you are acting honorably,” Valjean said somberly. “And so I am here. I will be at peace with myself no matter what the cost to myself is. Cosette will not have to bear it and that is all I require. This name I bear, Fauchelevent…I did not steal it. It was freely given to me in return for a service I once did and I accepted it for myself and to bestow upon Cosette. But now that she has relinquished her hold on that name, I find that I must do so as well. The name was freely given but to use it falsely, as I have done, is to be dishonest and to steal the regard of others as an honest citizen. It was tolerable once when it was for Cosette’s sake but no more. In days gone by, I stole a loaf of bread in order to live; today, in order to live, I will not steal a name.” 

Enjolras was silent for a moment. “I do not agree that a name freely given can be stolen. People change their names all the time for all sorts of reasons. My friend changed his name from Monsieur de Courfeyrac to simply Courfeyrac when he developed his republican ideals, for instance. Some people who do not have names at all create names for themselves. But if you do not wish to continue to make use of the name Fauchelevent then that is your choice. What will you call yourself, Citizen?” 

“I do not expect to see many people,” Valjean said slowly, wondering once again at Enjolras’ refusal to grasp the main point and his undue attention to the trivialities. “I do not mean that I will completely renounce the name because those who already know me by that would be suspicious and I cannot take a new name as that will have the same problem as before. Cosette cannot be compromised. But when I can, I believe I will start going by Jean again.” 

“Citizen Jean,” Enjolras said respectfully. 

Valjean closed his eyes. “Enjolras-”

Just then Cosette’s head poked through the door. She looked radiant. “Oh, here you are! I was looking for you. I’m just reading Monsieur Combeferre’s fascinating account of his experiences at the barricade and I wanted to ask you if my father really managed to shoot a mattress down from that far away! It seems like something out of a novel or something, not real life.” 

Valjean’s eyes flew open and he stilled at the sight of her. He couldn’t help wondering, in a vague sort of way, what possessed this newly married couple to spend the morning after their wedding working and reading. He did not know much of these things but it still did not seem very…normal. 

“I assure you that it is all quite true,” Enjolras assured her. “Combeferre is very painstaking in his research. But you can ask your father about it right now.” 

Cosette looked puzzled for a moment before her gaze fell on Valjean. She quickly stepped into the room, holding a book. “Papa! You are our very first caller. How pleased I am by this!” She walked over to him. “Papa, will you embrace me?” 

Valjean slowly approached her. 

As he got closer, a flicker of alarm crossed Cosette’s face. “Papa! You are so pale. Are you well?” 

“I am perfectly well,” Valjean assured her. 

Cosette sighed fondly. “Of course you are. You are always perfectly well. You were perfectly well that time you were laid up in bed for a month with fever!” 

“You took such good care of me that I did not mind a minute of it,” Valjean told her softly. 

Cosette laughed. “Oh, I should not have minded it either if I had a devoted daughter taking care of me!”

Valjean dropped a kiss upon her forehead and she kissed his cheek in turn. 

“I know that you are fine but I will keep an eye on you just the same,” Cosette said mock-warningly. “You cannot protest, either, as I am still the bride and everyone must keep the bride happy.” 

“Of course, Cosette,” Valjean said obediently. 

“Come now, tell me what you two are discussing in here! It sounded like quite the lively discussion,” Cosette said, clapping her hands together. 

Valjean did not know what to say so she looked to Enjolras. He had not gotten around to begging his new son not to tell Cosette any of what they were discussing but surely he had enough common sense to-

“Oh Cosette, it is wonderful!” Enjolras exclaimed, looking enraptured. “Well, perhaps you will think it is tragic, as well, because of the personal element but I must confess that I mainly see the inspiration. We have just been having the most fascinating discussion about your father’s past.” 

Cosette’s eyes lit up and she set her book aside. “Oh? How cruel of you, Papa, to tell my husband all of this before you will tell me!” 

“Enjolras-” Valjean tried to say again, horrified that after all this time Cosette was finally to know the truth of his past. He could live with losing her, he thought, at least for a time but he could not survive her rejection. Even if Enjolras did not see fit to react like a sensible human being that did not preclude Cosette for responding appropriately. 

But Enjolras was not listening. “He is perhaps the perfect symbol of everything that was wrong with previous regimes, even if for obvious reasons we will not be able to tell too many people.”

“Really?” Cosette was fascinated. “My father?” 

Enjolras nodded enthusiastically. “He was very poor once and his widowed sister and several small children were starving. One of them was even dying! He stole a loaf of bread and spent nineteen years in the galleys. He was released, took a false name, became both a saint and a highly successful mayor, then sacrificed himself to save an innocent going to prison in his place. Then he faked his own death, rescued you, and became a revolutionary. The old order insisted that men cannot change but I do not think we would have to do more to change their mind than point to your father’s life.” 

Cosette was trembling by the end of his speech though whether it was from fear or pain Valjean did not know. He held his breath as he wondered how, exactly, he was going to break his dear daughter’s heart. 

It turned out it was neither. 

“Nineteen years?” she repeated, furious. “For one loaf of bread?” 

“I think he also said something about a broken window pane and a few escape attempts,” Enjolras added helpfully. 

“Nineteen years!” Cosette said again as if that rendered all other points moot. “And then he…Oh, Papa, how good you are! And how much you must have suffered!” 

She moved to him again and flung her arms around his neck. 

Valjean let her, standing there stupefied. “C-Cosette?” 

When she pulled back there were tears in her eyes. “Is this why you never told me? You did not want to break my heart with the knowledge that society so cruelly wronged you?” 

Well, he had not wanted to break her heart, at any rate. 

“I’m so sorry for everything that you have suffered!” she cried out. “I wish that there was something that I could do, anything that I could do, to make it a little bit better.” 

“You do make it better,” Valjean said, suddenly finding the words he wanted to say. “Every time I look at you you make it better. I have never been so happy as when I am with you.” 

Cosette smiled then and it almost drove the ghosts away. She turned back to Enjolras. “I think you should overthrow the government. It’s clearly wicked and corrupt.” 

“We already did that,” Enjolras replied playfully. 

Cosette nodded. “Ah, right. I think we should get married then.” 

“We’ve done that, as well.” 

“You think of everything,” Cosette said teasingly. 

“I try,” Enjolras said, looking adoringly at her. “But that reminds me! We were discussing the possibility of your father moving in with us last night and I said that, though the idea seemed agreeable, I would need more time to carefully consider as decisions made in haste are never the best decisions.” 

“We’ve decided to make joint decisions about all of our major life choices,” Cosette said as a quick aside to Valjean. “It’s much more republican than Enjolras just telling me what to do and I obey him.” 

“I could never respect a woman who would just let me tell her what to do,” Enjolras added. 

“Well?” Cosette asked anxiously. “Have you come to a decision?” 

“After hearing this truly remarkable tale of a man who can rise above the miserable role society had assigned him and give lie to everything we’ve ever been told about the necessity of treating convicts as beasts and getting a chance to have a stimulating discussion with him while you were upstairs, I believe that having him live with us would be most agreeable,” Enjolras informed her. 

Cosette looked delighted. “Oh, isn’t this wonderful! What a merry household we shall have! We shall move you in today!” 

Valjean looked at her pleased, hopeful face and almost could not bring himself to say what he knew he must. “Cosette, I cannot come and live with you.” 

Her face dropped. “Why not? I thought you said that being with me makes you happy.” 

“Of course it does!” he hastened to reassure her. “Happier than anything!” 

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” Cosette said frankly. “Do not believe that either Enjolras or I are saying this out of politeness or a sense of obligation. That’s not who we are; we genuinely want you here and we have the room. You wouldn’t be ‘in the way’ or whatever else it is that you fear.” 

“Back before you were married and you depended on me, the risk that one day we might be out walking and someone would recognize me and yell ‘Stop! Jean Valjean!’ was a risk that I had to take,” Valjean explained softly. “But now you do not need me and so the danger that I would be putting you in every time I was near is simply not worth it.” 

Cosette looked like she wanted to argue but she remained quiet as she processed this. “Papa, when were you released from prison?” 

Surprised, Valjean replied, “1815.” 

“1815. That was the year I was born,” Cosette mused. “And you would have gone into prison in 1796 then. Enjolras also said that you faked your death so no one would be looking for you. Do you really believe, after all this time, that there is a threat so great as to make refusing to be happy – and refusing to make me happy, let me add – worth it?” 

The words landed like a blow. “You will be happy. You have your husband.” 

“It is not enough to have one person who you love if you are arbitrarily deprived of the person you love next-best in the world!” Cosette cried out. 

“It is for your sake, Cosette, that this must be done,” Valjean tried to explain. 

“You have not answered her question about the likelihood of someone recognizing you,” Enjolras spoke up. “And you yourself told me that the only serious threat had ceased to pursue you.” 

That had not been precisely what he had said. “There is still a chance. And there is a man, a terrible man, who knows the truth or enough of it that should he stumble upon us – and he does have a way of doing that – he could bring the police down upon me. Down upon the both of you, as well, if I stay here.” 

“The man you speak of does not sound like a respectable sort of citizen,” Enjolras noted. “And loath as I am to trade on the biases of an unjust society, in this case, to protect someone who does not deserve to be disgraced and returned to prison, I would happily rely on his lack of credibility. He would not be believed.” 

“We would deny everything,” Cosette added. “I will say that I was always with you and of course you were married to my mother. And of course the nuns can tell all about my uncle.” 

“I do not want you to lie to the police for my sake, my child,” Valjean said, finding it suddenly rather difficult to speak. 

“And I do not want you to go to prison or to go away and I think that my desire is stronger than yours,” Cosette countered, refusing to back down. 

“I believe that Cosette is right,” Enjolras added. “I have lied to the police before for the sake of the revolution and I would not hesitate to do so again to protect my family. The police can be forces of good or evil depending on what the law they are sworn to enforce commands of them. In this case, they would be doing evil by harming you.”

“And so really, when you think about it, we would be protecting them from their own evil duty by stopping them from arresting you,” Cosette reasoned. 

“You two…” What could he say? “You refuse to see things rationally.” 

“We refuse to see things through the eyes of an unjust society,” Cosette corrected. “If we agreed with their values and judgments then we would not have sought the complete overthrow over the old order and the establishment of a second republic.” 

“I would be honored to share my home with a man such as you,” Enjolras said, nodding respectfully at Valjean. 

What could he do? He had tried his best but they would not see reason. 

“Very well,” he conceded finally. 

Cosette lit up and immediately grabbed her book again before she moved to take his arm in hers. “Excellent. Now I want to hear all about your revolutionary spirit over breakfast, Papa. If Enjolras is impressed then I know that it must be something truly marvelous. And while I may weep at some of what I hear, know that my tears are laced with pride for how much you have survived and overcome. And to think that just yesterday I thought you had only embraced the revolutionary spirit after General Lamarque’s funeral for my sake. Why, I am the luckiest girl in France!” 

Defeat had never tasted so sweet.


End file.
